CHAPTER 14
AN UNINVITED GUEST
ARELLA
The next two weeks passed by in a blur.
I spent my days at work, and my nights at the warehouse, where Fleur was slowly becoming her old self again. She was smiling, ever so faintly, and her bruises were fading. As it turned out, Klaus actually helped her gain some of her dried-up confidence back.
Grimm was… I had no idea how to describe it.
The fact that he was part of the mafia, right at the top, made my skin itch and burn at the same time, because while his “profession” unsettled me, his gentleness and attentiveness outside of it made me weak in the knees. Sure, it reminded me of ghosts of the past, but somehow, when I looked at him, I seemed to forget all about the very people I ran away from, and only cared about how good he was to me.
Like last night, after Fleur and Klaus went to sleep, he drew me a bath and sat on the floor next to the tub as I soaked in the water. He didn’t make any attempt to take things further as he listened to me talk about the teenagers I worked with at the shelter.
Actually, he never attempted to take things further. He touched me, saw me fully naked many times, kissed every inch of me, but never even took off his pants. I was starting to think there was something to be afraid of beneath his clothes, because how many men would have a willing, naked woman under them and stop? How many would offer pleasure without receiving it?
Today was different, though.
Today something shifted inside him, because after he drove me home from the warehouse to change, and then to the hospital for my shift, he took the liberty of walking me in and kissing me in the middle of the hospital, offering a show to all of my colleagues.
It was the first time he kissed me in public, because he knew I didn’t like to display my personal life, and I accepted it because I knew why he did it.
He staked his claim. That hungry, possessive kiss was supposed to warn everyone — especially the male species — to stay away from me, and although the feminist in me wanted to punch him in the face and yell at him that she was not an object he could possess, part of me was overwhelmed by his attention. That part wanted him to claim me in front of the entire world, not just my colleagues.
He told me he had something to take care of, so he couldn’t watch me all day, but he said he would try to be there to pick me up when my shift ended. He also made me promise that I would call him if anything happened.
When I walked into the locker room, all eyes turned to me. Some were nice looks, some were scared, and some were straight up envy.
It felt kind of good.
“Weren’t you with Justin just a few weeks ago? What happened?” Olivia asked as she put on her pink scrubs.
She was one of my interns, and although I had no problem answering her questions regarding medicine, she kept trying to take our relationship towards the friendship stage, and she did that by asking about my personal life, which I tried to avoid talking about at all costs.
“Um, we broke up,” I said with a shrug, and turned to change my clothes.
“Damn, Santino, you change men like you change socks,” Lana interjected.
I did my best to mostly ignore her on a daily basis. She was also a resident, the same year as me, and we had been competitive with each other since day one, but while I did my best to keep it professional, she actively tried to take it to a personal level as well. She commented on everything. My clothes, my posture, my weight and especially my alleged body count. It felt like I was facing a high school mean girl, which I never experienced before since most of my classmates didn’t even dare to speak to me, let alone bully me.
Lana, as well as most of my coworkers, witnessed my many disappointments in the relationship department, and while they had no idea what they were talking about and I never corrected their assumptions, they all believed that I slept with all the men they saw me with.
Normally I didn’t care, as I decided not to fight fire with fire, but this time something inside me shifted, that thing that seemed to have awakened upon Fleur’s husband’s death, and it exploded when I heard her snide comment.
“Your interest in my sex life is getting out of hand, would you like some suggestions on how to spice up yours?” I said as I pulled on my lab coat.
“No, I was just wondering how long your STI list has gotten,” she replied.
I grinned. “Shall we piss in a cup and send it to the lab to see who has more? You know, since we make a competition out of everything.” I gave her a wink, then turned on my heels and left the changing room, not caring if she had any more to say.
I did my rounds, then went to the OR board and stared at it, biting my nails. It was something I did often, ever since my first day as an intern. Somehow, seeing all the names and procedures scheduled gave me a sense of stability, because no matter how chaotic I considered my life to be, looking at the board made my problems seem insignificant.
I was about to leave when my watch went off.
“ER?” I whispered to myself as I walked towards the elevator, confused.
It had been a while since I had been called down to the emergency room. Lana usually preferred to deal with broken bones and accident victims and such, and since she and I didn’t exactly see eye to eye, I asked to be called down only when there were mass casualties, and they couldn’t take care of them all.
A shiver ran down my spine as I imagined what was waiting for me down there. Massive car accident? Fire victims?
None of the scenarios I had in my head applied, because when I arrived in the emergency room, it was almost empty. I frowned and approached Lana, who was filling out a file.
Before I could ask anything, she turned to me. “Trauma 1,” she pressed the clipboard to my chest, “there’s a man with a laceration on his right arm, stitch him up.”
“Okay, but why did you call me? It doesn’t look like there’s much to do,” I said as I looked at the file.
“Has cardiology gotten to your head, Santino? You’re too good for the ER, or what?
“I know you don’t like having me around, is all.” I shrugged, ignoring her comment.
“He asked for you and refused to let anyone else treat him, so I’m filling out his file while you go take care of his wound,” she rolled her eyes. “Have you gone over to senior citizens now?”
I turned and walked towards the trauma room with the file in my hand, once again ignoring Lana and her comments, because I was itching to grab her hair and wipe the floor with her.
I was also shocked that someone had specifically asked for me, and curious at the same time. When I entered the room, I expected to see a familiar face, maybe one of the kids from the shelter, but I couldn’t recognize the man in front of me. He appeared to be in his sixties and had dark, short hair that was white on the sides. He was tall and well-built, as if he never missed a day at the gym in his life, and he was wearing pressed pants and a white T-shirt stained with blood.
“Good afternoon,” I smiled at him and turned my attention to his problem, ignoring the fact that I didn’t know him. “I’m Dr. Santino,” I introduced myself.
“I know,” he shook his head, and didn’t offer his name.
I put on a fresh pair of gloves, then took his arm in my hand and examined the wound.
“How did this happen?” I looked up at him.
“I cut myself shaving,” he replied with a thick accent, his voice sounding gruff although he didn’t seem to mean it.
I couldn’t suppress my laughter.
“Do you normally shave with serrated knives?” I raised an eyebrow as I prepared a syringe with a light, local anesthetic.
“How could you tell the blade?” His eyebrows shot up.
“Well, a straight edge knife would have given you a smooth cut,” I said, pointing to his wound. “Do you see how the edges of your skin are frayed? That tells me what kind of blade was used,” I explained.
He nodded, but not in understanding, but rather…proud.
“It was just an accident in the kitchen, I’m not much of a cook,” he said with a shrug.
“Yeah,” I giggled. “My boyfriend isn’t either,” I shook my head, smiling without intending to. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”
Did I just call Grimm my boyfriend in front of a stranger?
“Don’t apologize. Most men are shit in the kitchen. What did he cook for you?”
“Eggs, with an entire pound of salt on them.”
He laughed and shook his head, and I watched him with fascination, because he seemed so serene when he laughed, as if all the darkness radiating off him dissipated, leaving nothing but the men underneath.
“You’re going to feel a little pinch,” I said as I prepared to give him the injection.
“I don’t need anesthetic,” he said dryly.
I frowned, but decided not to ask why, just as I decided not to ask why he was lying about how he got injured, even though I knew it was self-inflicted, because the area of the cut, the angle and size were inconsistent with chopping vegetables.
“All right,” I relented, setting the syringe aside with the needle still covered. “It’s here in case you change your mind, it might hurt more than you think.”
He smiled, almost bitterly. “I’ve known pain all my life, my dear, don’t worry.”
I ignored the nickname he gave me and began to clean his wound, focusing on my task and not the intimidating man who seemed to be watching my face a little too intently. He showed no signs of discomfort as I stitched him up, almost as if it was just another day for him.
“There,” I smiled. “Good as new.”
I took off my gloves and threw them in the bin, then washed my hands and took out my prescription pad.
“I’m going to prescribe you a mild antibiotic to combat the risk of infection and I’ll ask you to come back in a week so I can check on the healing process,” I said as he stood up.
“Or I could give you my address and you can come by and see for yourself,” he said as he took his jacket from the hanger next to the door.
I shook my head, trying not to be intimidated by his size now that he was no longer seated. “I don’t make house calls.”
Was he flirting with me?
“Not even to your future father-in-law?” He smiled, and I froze.
Fuck.
When I looked up from my file, allowing myself to analyze him better, I could finally see it. The resemblance, the identical eyes, the apparently severe and dark exterior. He was an older version of Grimm, or rather Grimm was a younger version of him. His father, in the flesh, in Trauma 1, in the hospital where I worked.
Now it made sense why he asked for me specifically.
“Nikolai Abaddon,” he held out his unharmed hand, and I took it hesitantly.
But he didn’t shake it. In turn, he did what Klaus had done with Fleur that day at her house. He kissed the back of my hand and each of my knuckles before raising it to his forehead.
It was so strange to see all these burly men — who were presumably mafia affiliated — turn so gentle with women, and I wondered what made them like that, because criminals weren’t usually associated with tenderness. The ones I knew before used to hide that side of themselves so well you would think they were actually sociopaths. Some actually were, while some were just so afraid of vulnerability that they masked it every morning.
“I’m sorry, I had no idea you were Grimm’s father.” I smiled, although I was somewhat scared of him.
“You have nothing to apologize for, my dear,” he said. “I should apologize for barging in on your workplace, but I had to see you, since my son seems so intent on keeping you away from me.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t know how our relationship will unfold and didn’t want you to meet a potential ex,” I said with a shrug, but he didn’t laugh at my joke. “I’m sorry, that was stupid of me.”
He smiled again, and for some reason, not that I knew who he was, that smile looked odd on him.
“You apologize a lot, Arella.” He shook his head. “I’m sure he had his reasons, but uncertainty regarding the relationship you two have is for sure not on the list.”
He took the prescription out of my hand.
“Is there a reason you wanted to meet me? I mean, we’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks.”
“In your head, yes. But in his head, it’s been years,” he closed his eyes for a moment. “Grimm doesn’t just lower his head and pay eleven million euros to stop a war from happening for just anyone. He doesn’t kill to protect someone, not like he’s killed for you.” He looked me firmly in the eye, and I shivered. “My son doesn’t protect, my dear, not usually. It’s not in his nature. He thrives in chaos, loves to cause it, and he revels in it, so I had to see who was so special that she could tame that side of him.”
I was too shocked to say anything, and the questions piled up in my head in a continuous loop. He stopped a war. A war for what? Between whom? He paid eleven million euros. What? How? And when?
I sat down in the chair as a wave of dizziness passed through me and looked down at my feet, because I was unable to hold Nikolai’s gaze as flashbacks crossed my mind on a loop.
“Arella?”
He was standing by the door when I looked up.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for saving Klaus’ life. I am eternally indebted to you, so if you ever need anything…” he trailed off, not finishing his sentence.
With that, he left, leaving me speechless and shocked.
*
The rest of the day was uneventful, and after an appendectomy and a gall bladder removal, I finished my shift, my head still in pieces.
Grimm hadn’t come to pick me up, because he was apparently stuck in a “meeting”, and knowing what that meant in his profession, I decided to walk home, shower, and change before heading to Klaus to see Fleur.
I didn’t have my car.
I’d left it at the warehouse when I went to patch Klaus up, then Grimm apparently appointed himself my driver.
Not that I minded the walk; I always found walking relaxing and used it as an opportunity to reflect on things.
And so, I did.
I tuned out the world around me and fell into the trap of thinking about my choices and how they might affect me in the future, or how they brought back memories of… No. I shook the thought away, even if I couldn’t ignore the fucking irony of my life. I’d fallen in love with a member of the Bratva, and not just a soldier, but the heir to the throne.
I thought about the fact that I became an accomplice to murder, even though I swore an oath to do no harm, and while I wasn’t directly involved, I did everything in my power to prevent justice from being served. Sure, Fleur killed her husband in self-defense, but when I made the decision to involve a mafia member, I undoubtedly became an accessory to murder.
I thought about the fact that while I swore an oath to protect, respect and save lives, I didn’t care about the fact that my boyfriend was taking lives left and right.
I thought about my father and how he used to repeatedly tell me that every decision we make in life would one day become the fruit of our success or the last nail in our coffin.
It seemed like the devil did a little dance the day I took off my cross necklace and sent his most powerful ally to claim me for the dark side, because I didn’t feel any remorse for the men I saw lying in a pile of dead bodies in the warehouse that day. I also didn’t feel any ounce of remorse for the death of Fleur’s husband, quite the contrary, I was happy about it.
I was happy that he turned to ashes while Grimm had his head buried between my legs, just a few meters above the crematorium. I wasn’t ashamed about the dirty things I allowed a criminal to do to me, nor that I wanted him to do it again.
It seemed like my decision to allow him into my life dragged me into a life of sin, and what was more shocking than anything was the fact that I really didn’t care.
I should have. Fuck, I knew I should have.
Whether Grimm would be a fruit of my success or the final nail in my coffin, only time would tell, and I was determined to find out, because I couldn’t resist the magnetic pull between us.
I couldn’t deny him, push him away or avoid him.
And I didn’t want to.
*
After getting out of the shower and putting on a blue dress that ended a hand’s width above my knees and a pair of sandals, I was ready to go.
With my purse in one hand and my phone in the other, I stepped towards the door and froze in my tracks when the handle rattled a few times.
I gulped audibly, then silently walked back to the safe I had under a frame on the wall.
The door continued to move as I typed in the code, namely the date of my flight to Chicago. Slowly, I opened it and took out the Glock, my eyes briefly falling on the square red box it was resting on, then I closed the safe and slowly made my way back to the door.
My heart pounded in my chest as the rattling turned truly aggressive, then it suddenly stopped and the sound of running echoed in the hallway. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when a soft knock sounded in the room.
I bit my lip to the point where I drew blood, the drop falling down my chin as I took the three steps that separated me from the door.
My heartbeat slowed as I unlocked it and stepped back.
My mouth was dry as I held up the gun and put my finger on the safety, ready to release it. I closed my eyes briefly, opening them with cold determination. Ice cold, how Grimm said I could never be.
“Come in,” I called out, sounding calm.
The door pushed open, and my eyes widened as I lowered the gun, releasing a breath of relief as I leaned against the couch, my limbs heavy as the adrenaline rush cleared.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I said, still clutching the gun.
Grimm frowned, his eyes falling on the Glock in my hand. After closing the door behind him and locking it, he stepped towards me with purposeful strides.
“What happened?”
“Why were you rattling the handle like that?”
“I just got here,” he said as his scowl deepened and a noticeable vein pulsed on his temple. “What are you talking about?”
Panic spread through me as I realized that whoever was at my door earlier ran away when they heard Grimm coming. I straightened my back, then ran and checked all the windows, pulled the blinds closed and started pacing the room, with the gun in my hand.
I usually hated guns, as they weren’t my weapon of choice, but I’d missed the weight of having one, and most of the time, they were more efficient than knives.
“I was about to leave when someone rattled the door, maybe a burglar…” I said as I opened the safe again and put the gun back, then closed it and covered it with the frame. “You must have spooked them.”
His jaw twitched slightly as his lips pressed into a straight line, his eyes narrowing on the blood on my chin, which must have been drying up.
“When did it start?” he asked in one breath as he took out his phone and sent out a text.
“It’s fine. They’re gone. There’s no need to get all worked up about it,” I said, even though my heart was still pounding in my chest.
Was it a burglar?
Was it someone in Grimm’s life who wanted me gone?
It seemed rather odd that it happened right after I had met his father, but Nikolai didn’t strike me as the type who would go behind his son’s back.
Fuck, what did I really know about his father at the end of the day? The man was crazy enough to cut himself just to get to me at my place of work.
“Would your father do something like this? To scare me? Or… test me?” I asked as I hugged myself, suddenly feeling cold in my own home.
“My father?” he frowned. “Why would you think it was my father?”
“He came into the ER today with a cut on his arm, said he cut himself shaving.”
Grimm cursed under his breath in Russian, so quickly that I couldn’t understand what he said exactly, then he sent another text and came closer. He cupped my face, making me look directly into his eyes.
“It wasn’t him, Arella. My father doesn’t hurt women, nor does he send his men to do it for him. He would never hurt you. No one will ever hurt you, not as long as I breathe. I’ll find out who did this, and I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
He seemed so sure of himself that I believed him, so I nodded as his thumb brushed my cheek as he leaned down and, as if he was caught in a trance, he licked the drop of blood on my chin before sucking my bottom lip into his mouth.
I melted into him as he kissed me, his lips slowly moving over mine, as if to engrave his promise into me, but his tenderness didn’t last long. My entire being relaxed in his presence as I opened my mouth and granted him entrance, the metallic taste on his tongue sending tingles all the way down to my core.
He gripped the back of my neck, holding me in place as he took complete control of the kiss, then suddenly pulled away, licking his lips as he regarded me with those icicles he had for irises.
Although, thinking about it, Grimm didn’t exactly kiss.
He devoured as if he was a ravenous beast, and I had no choice but to surrender to his will, because the more I resisted, the stronger his hunger seemed to become.
“Is that gun registered?” he asked, his voice a low rumble as he looked at the painting that covered the safe.
“Yeah, I have a permit,” I replied, still caught in the memory of his mouth on mine, and I touched my lips with my fingertips.
“I’ll get you another one,” he said, intertwining his fingers with mine. “Come on.”
I nodded and picked up my purse from the floor, then allowed him to pull me along.
Grimm checked the corridor before stepping out, then stood on alert as I locked the door, and kept me shielded behind him until we were on the street. He seemed on guard as he held the door open for me, then quickly crossed to the driver’s side and got in, running his fingers through his hair.
He seemed to be having a conversation with himself, his expression changing a few times before he leaned over my thighs and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a Strike One pistol, which he handed to me along with a box of ammunition.
“Carry it with you at all times,” he said as he started the car and drove down the road. “Do you know how to use it?”
I raised an eyebrow at him and wrapped my fingers around the grip, loaded the magazine, then threw it in my purse while rolling my eyes.
“Yes,” I replied dryly. “Look, I really think it was someone trying to rob me, there’s no point getting worked up about it.”
I would have gone flying through the windshield if I didn’t have my seatbelt on when he slammed on the brakes, stopping the car on the side of the road.
He turned to me in a flash, his palm wrapping around my throat, lightly squeezing as his eyes bore into mine.
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that on the day I kiss you in front of an entire hospital, someone magically rattles your door handle,” his grip softened, but he didn’t let me go as he pressed his index fingers to my pulse. “Did you walk home?”
I nodded.
“Did you notice anything unusual?”
I thought about it for a second, then shook my head.
“No.”
“You’re moving in with me,” he said confidently, and I frowned.
“Whatever makes you think that.” I rolled my eyes and slid back and forth in my seat, then I slowly pried his hand from around my throat and reached for his pack of cigarettes and lighter.
“I’m capable of protecting myself, Grimm.”
“Sure, you are. That’s why you dated all those idiots who would have hurt you if they had the chance,” he bumped his head against the headrest, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Same could be said about you,” I whispered.
I lit the cigarette, then blew the smoke and opened the window.
His eyes snapped open, his entire body tensing for a moment at my comment, then going slack.
“I wouldn’t lay hands on you, not in the same way, and you know it,” his tone softened.
“I know,” I sighed. “I’m still not moving in with you.”
“Your apartment is not safe anymore,” he said matter-of-factly. “Mine is a fortress, you’re safe there.”
“You’re exaggerating,” I said.
Grimm took the pack off my thighs and lit one for himself, then he clutched the steering wheel with one hand, the cigarette hanging between his lips as he pushed his other hand through his hair, gripping it in his fist at the back, his knuckles white as he started the engine again, and I sighed, relenting.
I blew out the smoke and turned my body towards him, pressing my lips together for a moment before speaking.
“What do you think happened if not an attempt of breaking and entering?”
“I think someone’s watching us,” he said, then took a long drag out of his cigarette as he drove with one hand, his eyes darting from one mirror to the other, as if making sure we weren’t being followed. “So I’m sorry if I seem irrational to you, but if something happens to you, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself, Arella. If you die, I die, and I fucking refuse to have your blood on my hands.” His tone was harsh, cold, and so fucking worried it brought goosebumps on my skin. “Anyone else’s blood? I don’t give a shit. Yours? I’m fucking dead. You’ll move in with me, either by choice or by force,” he punched the steering wheel, honking at the slow-moving car in front of us.
His words shook me, and I pressed my lips into a tight line and moved my eyes to the road ahead, refusing to answer him for the time being.
I realized the danger I was putting myself in by being with him. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe our story would be devoid of obstacles, but I hadn’t thought they would come so soon, when we were this fresh.
So I let him drive and finished my cigarette, a heavy silence settling between us.